Dear Mrs Miller
by One For The Money
Summary: What happens to one girl when a boy who is madly in love with her learns about her obsession with Edward Cullen... With a message for the general population, Dear Mrs. Miller faces what I've been saying all along.


Dear Mrs. Miller,

I know what happened. To your daughter, I mean. I know where you could find her, because – let's face it – she won't be coming home on her own. She has made the last trip she will ever make – your little angel has returned to her master.

Just remember: Satan has his angels, too.

Oh, but I forget myself. Why would you want to hear me prattle on about how your only child is dead? Instead, let me tell you how it happened.

Did you know I've been watching her? Every night I'd sneak into her room after she went to bed. In fact, I had it down to a science. Once she turned off her light, it took her exactly seventeen minutes to fall asleep. Then I'd climb up the fence and onto her window ledge. Sometimes I would have to use the WD 40 I always thought to bring. I don't take risks. I plan.

I got the idea from that book series she enjoyed so much; "Twilight." I saw her reading them and could tell she loved them. So, naturally, I had to read them, too. I studied them, to be specific, wishing I knew who her favorite character was, because, see, I needed to know what I should be in order to win her favor before snapping the trap. I had to know how to lure her in.

Then, on a day she was at the mall – on her own, mind, which made it so much easier to follow her – I saw her purchase a "Team Edward" shirt. It was then that I knew my plan of action.

I craved her so terribly. Every night, sitting there, watching her sleep, just like Edward, all I wanted to do was make her scream. Every particle of my being was telling me to jump on top of her and pin her down, to push on her throat as her eyes widened in fear, pull her hair, break her bones…

But not yet.

I came back, night after night, just like Edward. Soon she started to suspect; she noticed the things I had done. Like the time I moved her makeup around in an attempt to show her that I was there, or the time I ripped up her curtains after she whispered the name of another man in her sleep.

You probably don't care to hear the whole story, about how I took pictures of her, how I wallpapered my room with them; about how I stole her clothes, dirty and clean alike, loving the way her smell clung to them; about how I built up a collection of her favorites – foods, movies, music, etc.

I wanted her to be surrounded by things she loved when I stole her life.

She had been at school when I made the first move. But you knew that. I came into the building dressed in a tan cashmere sweater and a pair of slacks. I am only telling you this because I want you to have a clear picture of what happened, of how it all looked.

I claimed to be her uncle, acting as if there had been some family tragedy. The woman at the counter bought it and called her down.

She came so willingly after she saw me. I like to think she thought me Edward; her own personal vampire, come to make her life interesting and exciting. I wore amber contacts just for the occasion. I was just like Edward.

I didn't touch her – not then, no. I stayed aloof, distant; rude, even. I embraced my character, acting the perfect Edward. I wore some of her shimmering makeup so that I sparkled in the sun. She must have been amazed. I held the door to my car – a silver Volvo – open for her, careful not to touch her, as badly as I wanted to. She never once hesitated.

I drove fast, not letting the speedometer dip below eighty, just like Edward. The smell of her shampoo filled the car, as if someone had just peeled an orange.

Do you know how mad that made me? That I had gone to all of this trouble and she couldn't even have the right shampoo? Bella's smelled of strawberries, right? So why on earth would she use citrus scented soap? I wanted to let go of the steering wheel, grab her wrists, and yank her so hard she broke. I wanted to make her hurt; make her regret her stupid choice.

But not yet.

I gripped the wheel harder, desperate to keep in control. I thought, 'What would her precious Edward do?' and I knew. I told her to talk. To fill the cab with mindless chatter. To distract me.

She obeyed. I believe that if there was the slightest chance she hadn't made the connection yet, she did then. Because she talked about running over some boy in her truck. She didn't have a truck, and I think we both knew I knew that.

I took her to the woods behind the garbage dump. Green and mossy, just like the forest outside of Bella's house. She followed me. I wonder: Did your daughter ever realize that no one would hear her begging me for mercy?

I'll skip over the boring part – it just entails me leading her deeper and deeper into the woods and telling her that I was the bad guy, just like Edward. We stopped at an area I had designated, an area decorated with the things I had collected.

I pushed her into a tree. I pressed her against the bark, and for the first time ever, I felt her soft flesh succumbing to my pressure. I was in control, and extremely pleased to see that she wasn't scared.

Not yet.

I told her everything. About how I crept into her room and watched her sleep, just like Edward. About how I had memorized her scent, just like Edward. About how I had learned everything about her. About how I followed her day and night. About how much I loved her.

Then I raised my voice. I scolded her for not playing along. I shoved her against the trunk time and time again, accenting my rising anger. I called her the ungrateful bitch she was. She was getting scared. It fueled me and my temper.

She thought she could outrun me. She thought she could fight me off. She thought I would let her go when she pleaded. She couldn't, and I didn't.

I slapped her. I punched her. I pulled her hair. I made sure to leave bruises when I defiled her, just like Edward. I even had a feather pillow that I ripped apart with my teeth, and I did the same to her clothes. Just like Edward.

Did you know that your daughter had a beautiful voice when she shouted for someone to please, please help her, save her from me?

No one heard. I knew they wouldn't.

I loved the way my hand felt when it closed around her throat. I loved the flood of power I had when I tore the hair from her pretty little scalp. I loved the way she kicked and writhed beneath me as I sliced into her skin with my knife. I believe I was chanting as I acted, asking her if I was Edward enough for her.

I broke her wrists. They made a wonderful wet snapping sound, and her screams were so beautiful, even though they were rough and raw.

Even now, as I write this, I can still hear them echoing in my head, ripping her throat apart better than I ever could have hoped to.

Her blood is still under my fingernails.

– Her Edward


End file.
